


pretty little patterns

by sinspiration



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, does it count as slow burn if it takes place over a period of like three days, k...ind of, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-28 00:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17776856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinspiration/pseuds/sinspiration
Summary: Keith's words have only brought him pain. He's heard them plenty. They're nothing.Shiro's words have only brought him pain. He dreads the day he'll hear them. They're everything.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [p0rth0s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0rth0s/gifts).



> Happy sheithlentines to [Bron](https://twitter.com/tinkers_cuss)! One of your likes was soulmate au. I took that and I _ran_.
> 
> Also I love this particular set-up and am Very Predictable. Bron, you said angst was cool. you totally did. no take-backsies.
> 
> I repeat: does it count as slow burn if it takes place over a period of three days (but it takes them like 20k to get there)?

Keith, like most people, isn’t born with words. Some kids at his school get them young. Like to show them off. He doesn’t care. Doesn’t want them. His dad has words, and his mom had left anyway.

Words are stupid.

He gets his words the day his dad doesn’t come home. Feels them burn into his wrist underneath the band he always wears.

(He wanted to be like his dad, and his dad wore a wrist band.)

(His dad isn’t coming home, and Keith is wearing a wrist band, and no one but him knows that he’s gotten his words.)

He checks them later, in the bathroom. The first moment he gets by himself.

_“Hey, are you all right?”_

No, Keith thinks furiously, pulling the band back into place. Absolutely not scrubbing at his eyes. He isn’t.

But maybe it means someone will be there for him soon.

Words meant there was someone out there just for you. It’s something he clings onto, desperately, trying to have anything to look forward to, trying to survive.

And then there is no one.

And no one.

And no one.

People come and go, and some of them hurt him and some of them ignore him and some of them are nice for a little while until they decide he isn’t good enough and no matter who they are, no matter what happens, no matter what he resigns himself to just to have _something,_ everyone leaves.

Eventually the bitter ache sinks back in. His dad had had words, and his mom had left anyway.

Keith’s words just mean he’ll have someone _special_ to lose, if he even ever meets them at all.

 

***

 

Shiro grows up on stories about his parents and how in love they were, grows up watching his grandparents wanting to be nowhere but with each other. He grows up on tales of happiness and love, and is beyond excited when he learns that one day he might have words of his very own. He wants to be the best he can be for the person he would get to be with one day, so he works hard and tries to be a good person and make good choices. He never wears a wristband, because he’s proud to be destined to someone and wants to make sure his words are seen as soon as he gets them.

His words finally appear when he’s fourteen years old. He’s having dinner with his grandparents and telling them about his day at school. He feels the burn in his wrist he’s been told to recognize as a special moment, and it’s with great anticipation that they all watch them form.

_“Don’t fucking touch me!”_

Shiro wears a wristband after that.

He goes through the next few months crushed. Horrified by what he would eventually make his person feel, terrified of the person he would apparently become. It circles through his mind. _Don’t fucking touch me._

He resolves that if he does find them, if he does hear his words, he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make up for them. He won’t to be a burden, and he won’t reveal the truth. He’ll do his best to be his best and quietly support them in any way he can. Try to be a friend. He’ll never deserve more than that. Not with the words he has etched into his wrist.

It’s with new determination that he begins to push himself. He’ll become everything his destined person might need. He excels in school. Develops a body to envy. Garners a reputation at being kind and gentle but always, always willing to fight if someone needed help.

When he loses his grandparents, he gets lost himself for a while. Has a full ride for college so he goes. Tries to power through his grief. Lasts two semester before he decides he wants to help people _now._ There has to be things he can do. Ways he can do good and be useful that isn’t sitting in a classroom.

Pararescue is the logical choice. A way to help and protect others while he continues to better himself. Maybe if he’s good _enough_ his soulmate will forgive him for whatever it is he does.

And then he loses his arm, and his work, and his words all at once, and even if looking at his words had always filled him with pain, he isn’t entirely sure which loss is the worst.

 

***

 

Keith makes it out of the system and makes it out of high school and gets whatever jobs he can. He manages to support himself, even save a little, because he doesn’t need much besides necessities.

Scrapes up enough, with loans, to start classes at the local community college. He didn’t do well in school, grades taking a backseat to survival. He has to start from scratch in college, but it also means a clean slate, sort of.

After a lot of pouring over options because he can’t afford to do it wrong, he goes into welding. It’s simple, it’s interesting, it’s something he thinks he could enjoy once he gets over a fear of fire and heat that he wants to beat anyway. It’s also something that guarantees him employment no matter where he ends up. All wins for Keith.

His life narrows to work and school, and at least it’s something to focus on.

He avoids looking at his wrist. He’s heard his words enough to stop hoping. Been disappointed enough to stop caring. They’re just words. People say them all the time.

Not often to him, especially not anymore, but that doesn’t change a thing.

He still hears them once in a while. He grits his teeth, forcing out some words of his own, and either his reply is on nobody’s wrist, or they take one look at him and decide to keep it to themselves.

It doesn’t matter.

 

***

 

Matt likes to joke that he helped save Shiro’s life, but Shiro secretly gives him that credit in all seriousness. He meets him and his father after agreeing to be part of an experiment for advanced prosthetics. Mr. Holt is kind, Matt is ridiculous, and they coax him back into feeling like more than a shell. Eventually he’s pressed into coming over for dinner and is introduced to Mrs. Holt and “call me Pidge” and he’s grateful to all of them, for being a part of his life.

Matt’s words are _“That will be $3.78.”_ and he always makes sure that he buys at least five dollars worth whenever he purchases anything, because he knows the importance of spontaneity. Pidge doesn’t have any words at all, and is very pleased about it.

The Holts are the ones who convince him to try school again, who support him as he tries to relearn what his interests are. He ends up learning a lot about mechanical engineering as he gets upgrades on his arm, because he’s determined to understand how it works. Finds that he likes it. Discovers another way to help people, even if this way is a little more indirect.

And, well, he never quite lost his determination and drive to be the best he can possibly be, so maybe it is only expected that he lands the position at Altea Tech and rises in the ranks quickly. It’s only a couple years later that he has his own office and a window with a view.

Every so often he thumbs his right wrist and traces the words that should be there. If he ever finds his person, he’ll offer everything he can and make it crystal clear that he expects nothing in return.

He still… he still can’t help wanting though. Calls himself all manners of stupid as he gets the back of his pararescue beret flash engraved with his words. He gets an incredulous look from the engraver; one he absolutely deserves.

He spends altogether too much time running his fingers over _that others may live_ on one side and _don’t fucking touch me_ on the other.

And he keeps it with him, always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith does a quick tally of what he must look like. He doesn’t own any particularly nice clothes, but he wears his most beat-up stuff to his apprenticeship. Messy hair falling in his face. Sleeping on a goddamn park bench at who knows what time at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does it count as a meet-cute if you're terrified of making a mistake and also think your soulmate is homeless

Keith doesn’t mean to fall asleep. It’s only that his shift at the coffee shop is from five in the morning to eleven and his apprenticeship at the locksmith starts at noon, which gives him just enough time to clean up, eat, and head over. It’s been his routine for almost a month, ever since he landed the apprenticeship, and it was a great opportunity that even paid, but it doesn’t pay _enough._ Not yet. His pay and hours will increase after six months, when he proves he’s serious in fulfilling his contract, but right now he’s got to work both jobs. Besides, with the addition of the paid apprenticeship he’s actually got some _extra_ funds now. He’s putting a lot of it towards paying off his student loans faster and saving most of the rest, but still. An extra couple hundred a month is a novelty he’s not at all used to and he’s not going to complain about it, an additional thirty-plus hours of work a week be damned.

But it does mean that he’s exhausted. Even more than usual. And he’s been exhausted for a long time.

He hadn’t slept well the night before either. Or the night before that. He’d managed to make a rookie mistake and burn the back of his hand a couple days ago, and that particular brand of pain had kicked up some recurring dreams that he keeps telling himself he doesn’t remember when he wakes up. He’s mostly kicked the fear of heat that close to his skin, enough to work no problem, but burns…

They hurt and he doesn’t consider them a big deal while awake, but he can’t control his dreams.

Fuck, he’s just so tired.

So when he gets out of the locksmith at eight, rides his bike over to the Chinese restaurant a couple blocks away, and then heads to the park close by to eat because he’s too hungry to wait, his plan is to close his eyes for a second. Just until his vision stops swimming, and then he’ll head home.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

But he does, and his dreams are the same as they’ve been for the past two days. His hand’s on fire, but it’s his back that’s burning.

And then there’s a large, heavy hand on his shoulder and a voice saying _“Hey, are you all right?”_ and Keith snaps awake, shoving the person away as hard as he can as he tries to scramble to his feet, teeth bared as he coils ready to fight.

 

***

 

Shiro likes being outside and jogging is a past time he enjoys, but with his job at Altea and his habit of getting lost in projects and working late, evening tends to be his default optimal window for it.

It’s a nice night, warm with a breeze, thoroughly into the start of spring, and it’s a pleasure to take his time, running a long, meandering trail.

He rounds a corner and spies a person curled up on one of the benches scattered throughout the park. There’s a red bike chained to one arm of the bench, and the person is using a beat-up rucksack as a pillow, the strap wrapped tightly around one arm, the other thrown over their face. As Shiro gets closer, the person on the bench shifts. Enough for Shiro to catalogue them a little better. Male, with messy black hair that’s on the longer side. A pretty, angular face. Slender. Clothes that are worn in ways that speak of time and wear, not fashion statements. Maybe mid-twenties at the latest

Alone, at night, sleeping on a park bench.

Shiro considers the options. Along with his phone and keys, he always carries some cash and a card when he runs. The least he can do is offer some bills. He’s not about to wake up a stranger, but the bike chain is the kind with open links. He can tuck the money in between the link right next to the lock. It should hopefully be easy enough to spot, without being too obvious to anyone else.

Shiro is next to the bench and pulling the twenties out of his pocket when the man shifts again, his hand banging down on the bench, and he lets out what sounds like a pained gasp. Shiro is instantly concerned. Is he hurt? Does he need help? He’s reaching out before he thinks, his left hand going to the person’s shoulder.

“Hey, are you all right?”

The man’s eyes snap open at once and he shoves Shiro away as he scrambles to sit up. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Shiro’s world tilts.

It could just be a coincidence but even as the thought flits into his head it is immediately discarded. Shiro _knows._

This is him.

Shiro drinks him in. The park doesn’t have the best light, but Shiro’s previous assessment of pretty was true: he’s about a half head shorter than Shiro and much more delicately built, and his pale skin and dark hair only emphasis his eyes, which are gorgeous.

The man is beautiful and he’s said Shiro’s words, and even if it’s in some small way that Shiro will never admit, he’s Shiro’s. Shiro’s hand goes instinctively to the zipped pocket of his shorts. As always, he keeps his pararescue flash on him. For one hysterical second he considers showing his soulmate the worn engraving.

But then he snaps back to reality. This man might be hurt and he’s also glaring at him, chest heaving as he clutches his rucksack to his chest. Shiro abruptly realizes that he is very large and very unfamiliar, and he’s basically boxed the man in.

He hurriedly takes a step back and holds up his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Violet eyes narrow.

“I’m Shiro. I-I thought you were hurt. I didn’t mean--I’m sorry.”

There is a long pause.

“It’s fine,” the man says. Stilted. His voice is deeper than Shiro would have expected, now that he’s paying attention, but it’s also perfect. Shiro is desperate to know his name.

But other things are more important. “And you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”

“No.” The man continues to eye him warily, but it looks like he’s calming down. Good. That’s good.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says again. He doesn’t know what else to say and the last thing he wants to do is leave, but he isn’t sure how he can stick around when it’s nearing eleven at night and he’s found his soulmate sleeping on a park bench. Because god, the last thing he wants to do is press. Intimidate or scare, or any number of things he grew up terrified he’d inflict on the person he hadn’t yet met but already deeply cared about.

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

***

 

The guy who had woken him up had moved away immediately after Keith had yelled at him and has apologized about a million times and doesn’t _seem_ to be a threat. Keith has finely honed the ability to take in a person at a glance, and so far he has gotten _large._ Well-built, with a shock of white hair that belies a younger face. Said face is, uh, kind of ridiculously handsome, and is still wearing a contrite expression, and the guy’s--Shiro, he’d said?-- hands are still in the air, as if to prove he isn’t about to rush in and grab. One of the hands is _metal_ and Keith is fascinated by it, because it seems to have perfect mobility, but that is absolutely not something to ask a complete stranger who’s just found you sleeping on a park bench.

The fact that Shiro seems to be weirdly focused on Keith not being hurt makes no sense at all until Keith realizes that it’s probably _late._

And Shiro had found him sleeping on a park bench.

Keith does a quick tally of what he must look like. He doesn’t own any particularly nice clothes, but he wears his most beat-up stuff to his apprenticeship. Messy hair falling in his face. Sleeping on a goddamn park bench at who knows what time at night.

“I’m not homeless,” he blurts out. Not entirely sure why it’s important for Shiro to know that. It’s not any of his business either way.

Though it’s almost worth saying it just to see the full-blown relief cross Shiro’s face as his shoulders release a line of tension. Almost immediately replaced by another look of concern, what the hell.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Shiro says, voice going maddeningly gentle, “But I could get you help if your home isn’t safe--”

“A little late for that,” Keith snorts without thinking. Before his eyes go wide because fuck, he doesn’t say stuff like that. Not to anyone.

And now Shiro’s eyes are wide too, and shit, fuck, what’s going on? Is this really happening? Is he really staring down a perfect stranger in a park in the middle of the night and just casually mentioning his past? He’s had weirder dreams but--

Keith takes an unconscious step back, his legs hit the fucking bench, and he stumbles, flailing backwards and sitting down hard. “I’m fine!” he snaps at Shiro, who has taken a step forward and seems hovering on the edge of trying to offer help. He rubs at his face, because the sudden movement kind of made his head rush.. He’s too fucking tired for this. And his hand hurts and he still has to bike across town. _Fuck._ “I’m fine,” he says again, and it sounds weak even to his own ears.

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

The glare Keith levels at Shiro is half-hearted at best. Shiro just shrugs, which, coincidentally, draws attention to the roll of his muscles underneath his thin compression shirt. Then he kind of does a little wave in the air with his hand. His right hand. “I know what it’s like to be less than fine.”

Keith tracks the movement of his hand. Seems fair, considering. “Yeah. Okay.”

“May I sit?”

Keith assesses Shiro again. He’s made of muscle, and Keith’s previous observation of stupidly attractive still stands. People like that can be dangerous. Still, he doesn’t exactly give off the kind of vibe Keith has learned to recognize and run from or fight if necessary, which is something. When Keith searches his face, Shiro doesn’t move, just evenly holds his gaze, expression open and so careful it almost actively causes Keith pain.

“What if I say you can’t,” Keith says slowly.

“Then I won’t.” Shiro takes a step to the side--away from Keith’s bike, Keith realizes.

What the fuck, is this guy even real?

Keith licks his lips and looks from his bike back to Shiro. He doesn’t trust easily and has plenty of good reasons not to. The fact that he wants to trust this stranger should be a great big warning flag.

But while he doesn’t know why… he kind of wants to see what Shiro’s going to do.

He scoots over and jerks his head toward the bench. Open invitation.

Shiro shuffles forward and sits down at the other end of the bench, giving Keith as much room as possible. Points in his favor. Not that it matters in the least.

And then Shiro doesn’t seem inclined to say anything. Just sits next to him, hands resting on his knees, body angled in. As if inviting _Keith_ to speak. Not pressing. Just, like, leaving an opening.

Keith pushes his hair out of his eyes, wincing as he does it because he forgot and used his left hand, which is still recovering from too-hot metal being pressed against the back of it. He can see the moment that Shiro’s eyes zero in on the bandage.

He’s not required to tell anyone anything, least of all a well-meaning stranger no matter how kind his eyes are, and the burn on his hand is one he got honestly. But he still curls his right hand over his left and pulls it in close to his chest.

“Are you hungry?”

Keith doesn’t jump, but he does maybe startle a little. He hadn’t actually expected Shiro to speak before he did. He squints at him suspiciously. “I told you. I’m not homeless.”

Shiro shrugs. “I didn’t say you were. I was just wondering if you were hungry. There’s an all night diner through the park and a block down. My treat.”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek. He’s pretty sure he knows which diner Shiro’s talking about. He’s only eaten there once, but he remembers a homey atmosphere and good food. “Why?”

Shiro’s gaze, bewilderingly, drops to Keith’s hands again. Keith follows it, takes in his right hand shielding his left, the leather wrist band he always wears is prominently dark against his pale skin. Nothing special. But when he looks back up, Shiro’s expression is pained. Which makes no sense at all.

The expression smooths out into calmness again. “Because I want to offer. You can say no. I can leave you alone.” But even as Shiro says it, Keith can somehow hear a desperate undercurrent of _please don’t go yet._

It’s not even creepy, though it should be. Instead it’s intriguing. And, whatever, it’s late and Keith _is_ hungry, and having something in his stomach would probably give him a little more energy. At least enough to get home to drop into bed for a couple hours.

And god, that really is all he’s going to get, isn’t it.

Well, he’s already slept a little. It’ll have to be enough.

“Yeah,” he finds himself saying. “Okay.”

 

***

 

Shiro isn’t quite sure how he’s managed to get his soulmate to go to the diner with him, but it’s bought him the time of a meal. It’s a start. Maybe while they eat he’ll be able to learn how he can do more.

So far he knows his soulmate is wary but fierce, quick to hide hurts, and absolutely beautiful. It might seem like a lot to glean from only a brief interaction, but Shiro has always been an observant man. He’d trained it into himself, in part to prepare for a soulmate who’s first words were about how Shiro had hurt him.

Now he’s heard his words and the context is… better. But the situation is still less than ideal. He’s been given a chance here, in being allowed to take this man to dinner. He can’t waste it.

Shiro still doesn’t know his name.

He waits patiently, a little distance away, as the man locks his bike up, and then they head into the diner together. They’re seated in a booth and Shiro slides in across the person who carries Shiro’s words on his skin. He has to force himself not to stare.

The man unslings his rucksack and sets it next to him on the inside of the booth’s seat and then glances up at Shiro. Every move he makes is calculated, and he carries himself as if he’s poised to fight or flee at a moment’s notice. It’s definitely body language Shiro is adept at reading and it hurts, that his soulmate lives with it. But he doesn't carry himself like military.

Knowing that almost hurts worse.

“Keith,” he says suddenly. Then frowns. “I mean, I’m Keith. I didn’t tell you, before.”

Keith. His name is Keith. _Keith, Keith, Keith._ “Nice to meet you. Officially.”

Keith’s lips quirk up just the tiniest bit, and Shiro wants to give him the world.

For now he just assures him that he should order whatever he wants, it really is Shiro’s treat, and he can get something to go too, if he’s so inclined. Keith still regards him with suspicion, but it seems to have settled down into general wariness instead of his body thrumming to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Shiro gets the feeling that Keith is unused to simple kindness, random acts or otherwise.

His pararescue flash sits heavy in his pocket.

“So,” he says, once they’ve ordered--French toast for Shiro because why not, and bacon, eggs, hash browns, and pancakes for Keith, along with a glass of orange juice. As soon as he opens his mouth Keith’s expression settles into something that can only be described as resigned. He’s probably expecting prying questions, and while Shiro wants to know everything about him, it isn’t his place to ask anything at all. “I feel like I should introduce myself properly.” Shiro smiles. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, but I really do mean it when I say to call me Shiro. I live and work in the area.”

He watches Keith lick his lips, can’t help but track the motion. “Doing what?”

“Mechanical engineering.” Shiro holds up his hand. “I started wanting to understand how this worked and things kind of spiralled from there.”

Keith nods. Takes a big gulp of orange juice. Opens his mouth, and Shiro _isn’t_ expecting a question about why he got the arm in the first place, because Keith doesn’t seem like that sort of person, but he still isn’t expecting the, “It’s got full mobility?”

“Yeah.” Shiro wiggles his fingers. Circles his wrist. Keith watches, seemingly fascinated.

“That’s incredible.”

“I was lucky enough to be chosen for a first prototype and made friends with some people in the field. The whole family is amazing.” He holds out his hand, palm up, offering. “I’ve got tactility too. Not as much as my other hand, but I can feel textures and temperatures with this version. My first could only gauge how hard I was touching something, so I didn’t accidentally crush things.”

Keith glances down at Shiro’s open hand, then up at Shiro’s face, before tentatively reaching out to touch Shiro’s fingers. The first point of contact is--breathtaking. In part because Shiro is pretty positive that Keith doesn’t touch often or easily.

To tell the truth, neither does Shiro. He doles out comfort to others; arms slung around Matt and Pidge’s shoulders, hands on shoulders for assurance, hugs as friends need them, but he doesn’t seek them out for himself, not really. Sometimes he finds himself desperate for it. Finds someone for a night just to be able to feel another person’s warmth. But otherwise it’s an intimacy he’s never felt right pursuing for his own.

Keith fingers skate over Shiro’s palm and Shiro doesn’t quite hold his breath, but this is already more than anything he’s hoped for.

The waitress comes with their food and Keith immediately turns his attention to that. He eats quickly, efficiently, and somehow still manages to keep his eyes on Shiro the entire time.

“I hope it’s good,” Shiro says after a few bites of his own meal.

Keith nods. Swallows. “It is. Thanks.”

Shiro lets the silence settle as they eat. He doesn’t want to make Keith feel as if he has to interact in return for being treated. Instead he turns his attention to his French toast. He’s got much less food than Keith does, but Keith is still done before he is, finishing off his orange juice and settling more fully in the booth.

“Do you want anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

There’s absolutely nothing he can say that won’t sound suspicious, so Shiro just shrugs and takes another bite of toast.

Keith fiddles with his napkin, winces, and sets his hand back down on the table. It’s wrapped in what looks like medical tape which is slightly puffy, like it’s holding in gauze. “So you’re regularly out in parks at this time of night?”

“I like being outside, but I work pretty long hours. Sometimes late is what I get. But I like that too. It’s quieter.” Keith nods, so Shiro continues. “And hey, sometimes I meet interesting people.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, lips twisting. “Interesting, huh?”

“You seem like you’re probably interesting,” Shiro says easily. “But how about this, _you_ got to meet an interesting person.”

The lips quirk just a little. “Yeah?”

“Sure. How many people do you know with a fully mobile metal prosthetic?”

It gets a tiny huff of a laugh. Shiro grins as Keith says, “Okay, maybe.”

The waitress comes with the check, and Shiro hands her his card. “Thank you for humoring me,” he tells Keith as she walks away.

Keith suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Sure. Thanks for uh. This.”

“Keith.” Keith glances up at him warily. “I know what it’s like to have a bad day, and it just seemed like you were having one. I don’t expect a thing back.” And then Shiro stops talking, because as much as he wants to hold onto Keith and not let go now that Shiro’s found him, it is very obvious that trying to cling is the last thing he should be doing. Besides that, it is very late and Keith… probably does not live in this area of town. And wherever he’s going, it’s obviously either on bicycle or on foot.

The waitress comes back. Shiro writes in the tip and signs the receipt. He and Keith both slide out of the booth.

Shiro wants so much, but this might be all he ever gets. There’s no way to ask for more.

They walk in silence over to Keith’s bicycle, and Keith crouches to unlock it. When he turns, he’s wearing an unreadable facial expression. “That’s not it.”

“What’s not it?”

Keith points a finger at him. “You want to say something and you aren’t.”

God, Keith can read him already? Shiro runs a hand over his short hair. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I really did mean it when I said I don’t expect anything from you.”

Keith crosses his arms and looks unimpressed.

Shiro sighs. “But I… I admit to wishing I could know that you’ve gotten home okay.”

Keith’s eyes narrow again, but then he shifts to pull what turns out to be a phone out of his back pocket. “Fine. What’s your number?”

Shiro knows his eyes widen, but he schools his face as quickly as he can. “Are you sure?”

“If I start getting a bunch of creepy texts or whatever, I can just block you.”

Fair enough. Shiro tries not to seem too eager as he watches Keith punch his number into his phone before he pockets it. “Okay,” Keith says. He grips the handles of his bike.

“Have a good night.” Shiro doesn’t reach out to touch him. “Get home safe.”

Another indecipherable expression. “You too.”

Shiro turns to go so that he doesn’t have to watch Keith leave. He thinks about a prototype he’s helping to engineer and does calculations in his head as he heads home. It’s only once he’s in his apartment, kicking off his shoes, that he allows himself to think about Keith again. Tries not to get stuck on how beautiful he was and fails, because Keith is gorgeous. Tries not to think about the affectations that speak of past hurts and fails, because Shiro is furious he wasn’t there to help even though he knows it’s irrational.

Tries not to hope Keith actually _will_ contact him and fails, because it’s all that Shiro wants.

He takes a shower. He reads some emails for work. He avoids going to bed because he has to wait. Keith had asked for his number. It had to have meant _something._

He ends up staring at his engraved flash, tracing over and over his words until he gets a text at one in the morning from a number he doesn’t recognize: _Home safe._

Shiro reads it feeling as if his heart is going to burst. _Thank you for letting me know,_ he sends back. _Sleep well._

And then, a few minutes later he gets, _You too._

Shiro saves Keith’s number in his phone and promises he won’t text him unless Keith reaches out first, but he still falls asleep dreaming about what ifs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the alternate title to this fic could have been "Keith suffers from lack of sleep, Shiro suffers from lack of Keith." I'm not even sorry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith abruptly realizes that Shiro is probably wealthy or maybe a mob boss, possibly both, and at this point Keith just sort of needs to trust that he’s not going to die regardless of whether or not he gets into this very fancy van.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day two, take two. they're both disasters. did I mention pining.

Keith wakes up at four on Friday morning feeling as though he’s going to die, which, if nothing else, is at least a familiar feeling. He allows himself two minutes to huddle under his covers as his alarm continues to go off, wishing for once he could just  _ rest. _

But that’s not Keith’s life. Not right now. Never was.

Once he gets more settled at the locksmith, things’ll be better. He just needs to hold out until then. He’s waited this long. 

He forces himself out of bed and into his bathroom, maybe brushes his teeth with his eyes closed. The heat of the shower wakes him up a little, but just enough to feel faintly nauseated from lack of sleep. It makes getting dressed harder, but he manages.

Facing down his bike is daunting, but once he’s on it the ride gets easier. He’s biked downtown hundreds of times, enough that he almost  _ could _ do it in his sleep.

He makes it to the coffeeshop in one piece. Unlocks the door and goes about starting to set up. Lance is already there, and he blinks sleepily at Keith as he does his own share of the work. He’ll be talking Keith’s ear off in about an hour, once he fully wakes up, but for now they mostly work in silence. Keith appreciates it while he can. Lance is… a lot. It’s way less of a negative for Keith than it used to be, back when Hunk first hired him, because he’d immediately decided he was Keith’s rival or whatever. He’s since mellowed slightly, and Keith’s gotten used to Lance’s particular brand of loud.

But he still feels sick, and his head sort of hurts, so yeah. Enjoying the silence while he can.

He downs a cup of coffee in an effort to wake up, but drinking it on an empty stomach and a sleep debt doesn’t end up doing him any favors. The nausea gets worse, but by then the first customers are coming in and Keith is, at least, too busy to pay it much attention. Dealing with customers and the crazy busy time of day has as many pros as it does cons. Mainly that time passes quickly.

Keith takes orders and makes drinks and cleans up as needed and tries not to count down the hours until he can go home. He doesn’t have the locksmith on Fridays, and he’s very much looking forward to going home and collapsing into bed to sleep forever, even if at some point he’ll have to drag himself up to go grocery shopping.

He’s shaky and exhausted and still faintly nauseated by the time he gets a break, so he retreats to the kitchen, where there’s a little place off to the side with a couple chairs that employees can drop into out of sight of customers.

Hunk takes one look at him and thrusts a plate full of pastries under his nose. Keith blinks at it for too long before he takes it.

“Please eat something,” Hunk begs. “I thought Lance was just being  _ Lance _ when he told me you looked like you were going to die.

“I’m fine,” Keith forces out. “Just tired.”

Hunk narrows his eyes, but an oven timer beeps just as he opens his mouth. “Eat,” he says firmly, pointing at the plate before he turns away. Keith might not love customer service, but he likes working for Hunk, and not just because the guy was a marvel in the kitchen. Hunk opened the coffee shop a couple years ago and has never looked back. It’s kind of inspiring. It’s an interesting change of pace for Keith, not only to have a boss younger than him, if only slightly, but to have one that so genuinely enjoys what he does.  He’s also a great boss and a good friend. Hunk’s made it clear that he completely supports Keith in pursuing another career path, as long as Keith promises to keep in touch.

Keith stares down at the plate. He’s normally one to jump at any chance to eat. But he’s too tired. He makes a valiant attempt at a strawberry cheese danish, but it makes him feel sicker. He ends up putting the plate down and just closing his eyes until it’s time to get back to work. It’s just a couple more hours, and then he can go home.

The idea of getting on his bike to make the half hour trip home looms threateningly in the distance, but he’ll manage. He always has.

  


***

  


Shiro doesn't usually bother leaving the office for lunch. There’s a cafe on the first floor where he sometimes goes to grab a bite or he has something sent up, once in a while he orders in. He likes his work and tends to lose himself in it, so stopping for breaks seems kind of unnecessary.

On Friday he makes it until eleven thirty before he decides he needs some fresh air. He’d woken up from a dream where Keith had let his guard down and smiled at him, and the day had pretty much continued in that theme. Thinking about last night, about how his words had sounded, shaped in Keith’s mouth. Thinking about Keith wary and unsettled, relaxing in minute increments--at least enough to accept a meal from a stranger. Thinking about what Keith might look like genuinely relaxed. Thinking about  _ Keith. _

He’s pulled out his phone an inordinate amount of times to stare at Keith’s number. The  _ Home safe. _ and  _ You too. _ that he’d gotten. Resolutely shoved his phone back in his pocket because he had promised himself he’d leave Keith alone. 

But by eleven thirty he needs to do  _ something. _ He can’t stare at his monitors anymore, has paced around his office too many times, catches himself continually reaching into his pocket to curl his fingers around his flash, staring out his window wondering where Keith might be, out in the world.

“Get a grip,” he growls at himself, before he stalks to the elevator.

He does feel a little better once he’s outside. His plan is to just wander a bit but… 

He isn’t kidding anyone. He heads straight to the park.

Shiro’s not being rational. He knows this. It was by total chance that Keith happened to be in the park that late. He’d fallen asleep. Who knows where he normally is that time of night. Home, Shiro hopes. Somewhere safe.

But he heads to the park anyway. Because he’s pathetic, he mostly plans to sit on the park bench where he met Keith and wish that the meeting had lasted just a little longer.

He decides to do a lap around the park first though. He’s jittery with energy. It’s fairly busy, because it’s right around lunch time and it’s a nice day. Parents are out with little kids, people are jogging, others are flopped in the grass or on benches.

Shiro sticks to the path and walks the winding loop, eventually getting to one of the more out-of-the-way areas of the park. The trees are thicker and it’s shadier, and less people are around. There’s a single bench on one side, and…

And there’s a very familiar looking red bike chained to one arm of it, an even more familiar looking body sprawled over it.

Shiro swallows and approaches, scarcely daring to believe this is real.

In daylight Shiro can see so many more details, and this time he takes the chance to look. His first instinct is to look at Keith’s hands again. He still has the bandage wound around his left hand. There’s still that thick leather band around his right wrist. Shiro rubs his own wrist, metal in place of flesh, and thinks back to the first thing he said to Keith. Asking if he was all right. It’s something he’s said to dozens of people dozens of times. It bothers Shiro, that it wasn’t something more special, though at least his words were kind. At least Keith grew up knowing there was someone out there who cared about him. Who wanted to ask him that question.

He wishes he could see the words on Keith’s skin.

Shiro looks his fill and has to frown at what he sees. Keith is definitely as beautiful as Shiro remembers, but he also looks completely exhausted even while asleep, and his sleep doesn’t look restful.

Once again, Shiro wonders why Keith is sleeping out here, on a bench, instead of at home. Once again, he worries about the safety of whatever Keith does call home. Thinks back to Keith’s sneer,  _ “a little late for that,” _ when Shiro had offered help. How wide his eyes had gotten after he’d said it, making it clear it wasn't something he’d intended to say.

Once again, he wants to reach out.

He knows better this time, though. Definitely knows not to touch. And Shiro shouldn’t wake him up anyway. Keith clearly needs sleep. 

He’s made the decision to walk away. 

He’s going to.

Any moment now.

On the bench, Keith’s nose scrunches up, which is absolutely adorable, and then he opens his eyes, which is slightly less adorable if only because Shiro has no way to pretend he wasn’t just watching Keith sleep.

Keith’s eyes widen, and then he groans, flinging an arm over his face. “Fuck, what time is it?”

“About noon,” Shiro tells him, not sure what else to say.

Keith groans again and sits up. He moves slowly and presses a hand to his head once he’s upright, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before they open again. He fixes his gaze on Shiro. 

Shiro figures he should probably offer an explanation. “I really do work just around the corner,” he says. Altea Tech is a shiny skyscraper easily seen from certain parts of the park, and he kind of wishes he could point to the building. “I was taking a walk on my lunch break. You were… here. Again.”

“Still not homeless,” Keith grunts. “Had work. Finished. Felt fucking awful so I figured I’d lie down before trying to bike home.”

“How far is home?” Shiro asks, concerned. Before quickly adding, “I’m not asking where you live. Just distance.”

“Half an hour-ish by bike. Not too bad.” Keith sighs and presses a hand over his eyes. He looks like he’s about to fall over.

Shiro really can’t be blamed for the next thing he says. Which is, “Come have lunch with me.”

Keith’s expression can only be described as ‘incredulously bewildered.’ “What?”

“Have lunch with me,” Shiro repeats. “If you haven’t eaten yet. Have you?”

“No.” Keith draws out the word, squinting suspiciously. “Why?”

Shiro shrugs. “Just offering.”

“What, because I’m delightful company?”

At that, Shiro can’t help a smile. Keith stares at him. Stares harder when Shiro says, “Of course.”

Keith worries at his lip, and Shiro tries his best to be unassuming and unthreatening. It’s another chance. It’s more time. He can’t help hoping.

“Okay,” Keith says eventually. “Sure. Why not.”

  


***

  


Keith wakes up feeling moderately less awful, probably because of his cat nap, but still lightheaded and shaky. Also ravenous. 

So it’s not really a sacrifice to take Shiro up on the offer of food, even he does kind of think it’s some sort of fever dream at first. Especially since his thoughts had drifted to Shiro… several times since he said goodbye to him last night. Poking at how fucking gentle he’d been, doing his best to be unthreatening even with being tall and broad and–

He smiled a lot. At Keith. And it was a stupid thing to dwell on, Shiro probably smiled at everyone all the time, he seemed like exactly that sort of guy, and Keith got smiled at anyway--sometimes even by people who mattered. Hunk. Lance. Once in a while at the locksmith when he does something right.

But Shiro’s smiles... they keep making him feel as though Shiro thinks Keith’s someone important. Someone really worth being smiled at. Seeing it again makes him remember that he’d dreamt about that smile. Instead of burning.

It’s stupid.

Keith stands up. He absolutely doesn’t wobble and have to catch himself thanks to a headrush. Unlocks his bike and says Shiro should just pick wherever he wants to go, and then, well, they set out.

Shiro doesn’t walk too fast, which is nice because Keith is both dealing with a bike and isn’t feeling so hot. They leave the park and Shiro takes a left. “There’s a good burger place this way. Does that sound okay?”

“Sure.” Fries and a milkshake sound more appetizing than a burger right now actually, but if it’s a proper burger place, it’ll have those on offer too. Keith just wants to eat something that won’t take much effort. Carbs and sugars sound good. 

“I’d like to ask what you do for work,” Shiro says conversationally, as they walk. “But I don’t want to pry.”

Keith rolls his eyes to hide how the phrasing makes his stomach flip. It’s weird being treated like his privacy is important. Normally he has to fight to hold it tight to his chest. “Barista. In the morning, anyway.”

“Early shift?”

“Yeah. I start at five.”

“So you’re biking half an hour to work at four-thirty in the morning?” Shiro’s voice is still conversational and not at all judgemental, but Keith bristles anyway.

“What about it?”

“It just shows a lot of drive. That’s all.”

“Oh.” 

A pause.

“You had to bike to work at four-thirty this morning,” Shiro says again, though now it’s almost to himself, and also slightly horrified.

Keith gives him a funny look. “We just established this. Yes. So what?”

“You didn’t get home until one.”

How does Shiro even know that?

Oh. Right. Keith had texted him. 

Keith shrugs. “I’m used to it.”

Shiro opens his mouth, seems to reconsider what he wants to say, and closes it again. “That’s a lot to be used to,” he says eventually.

Keith shrugs again. Doesn’t have to say anything else, because Shiro stops walking, pointing out the restaurant. There’s a bike rack right in front of it, so Keith locks up his bike and then follows Shiro inside.

It’s pretty busy, which makes sense since it’s the lunch rush, but they’re still seated quickly, in a little booth in the back. The front of the menu has a classic burger-fries-shake combo on the front, which looks very promising.

He orders the combo with a chocolate milkshake and a vanilla coke. Thinking even if he can’t manage the burger he can get it boxed for later. He suspects Shiro might even get pleasure from him doing so, which is both weird just as that stands, and also that Keith has interacted with Shiro enough to suspect this in the first place.

The waiter leaves. Keith fights the urge to pillow his head in his arms. Too many days on too little sleep is definitely catching up to him. 

Instead he rests his cheek on one hand and peers up at Shiro. “Thanks for taking me out.” It’s only right to say it. And he’s been prickly so far. He’s a prickly person. But he doesn’t want to actively push Shiro away.

Why not? Why does he want–?

“Thanks for not high-tailing it in the opposite direction when I offered.” Shiro looks rueful. “I know it must seem weird that we’ve managed to bump into each other twice in two days.

Well, at least he admits it. “I did no bumping,” Keith points out. “You did all the bumping.”

“Sorry?”

Keith waves his other hand. “At least you seem harmless.” 

“I don’t come off as intimidating?” It's asked carefully.

Keith raises an eyebrow. Shiro hadn’t even come across as threatening yesterday, in the dark of night, waking Keith up from a nightmare. He apologizes. He hunches his shoulders. He smiles and seems genuinely  _ good. _ Not intimidating. “Not really, no.”

Shiro laughs. “That’s good. Though I can be.”

It’s a tease and an opening, and Keith is curious. “Yeah? Sure about that?”

Shiro grins at him. Then it drops from his face and he straightens up, shoulders pulling back, which is weird because he already had great posture but it--he--suddenly there’s this, like,  _ aura _ of command surrounding him. Keith swallows and fights his own urge to sit up at attention. It’s still not… he’s not  _ afraid _ but he is definitely very…

Intimidated.

Then Shiro relaxes and he grins again. “It came in handy when I was in service. And it’s useful at work, especially in meetings with people I don’t particularly like.”

Keith breathes out. “That’s uh… yeah. Okay.” He shifts in his seat, wanting to change the subject. “Service? Not that you have to talk about it if it’s a touchy subject.” He keeps his eyes on Shiro’s face so he doesn’t glance at his hand.

“Pararescue,” Shiro says.

“Oh. Wow.” 

“I just wanted to do some good, you know?”

Keith does not actually believe Shiro exists. “That’s one way to do it. Did you like it?” 

Shiro tilts his head, considering. “I liked a lot of aspects of it. I liked what I was able to do. I liked being able to help. I liked saving lives.”

Keith nods. “Bet the physical tests were a breeze for you.” Which he does  _ not _ mean to say, but that’s what ends up coming out of his mouth.

“I held my own,” Shiro says, lips quirking. 

Keith scrambles to move away from that particular topic. Shiro’s exactly Keith’s brand of attractive, he’s being nice in a way that doesn’t speak of ulterior motives, and is acting as though Keith is worth his attention. None of that is stuff Keith needs to spend any time thinking about. “Do you miss it?” He doesn’t ask why Shiro stopped.

“Same answer, really. I definitely miss the things I liked about the job. Though I have skills that I can at least continue to put to use.”

“I’m guessing… not the ones that include jumping out of planes.”

A laugh. “More being used to rugged terrain, tracking, and medical care. I’m a search and rescue volunteer.”

Yeah. There’s no way Shiro is an actual human person. Too amazing. Keith can’t deal. “Okay, so basically what you’re telling me is that you’re very impressive.” At least he manages to sound dry. Unaffected. Good job.

Shiro abruptly colors, which is just when their waiter comes back with their food. Keith immediately turns his attention to his milkshake. Drinks a full third of it before he comes up for air and decides he’s hungry for his burger after all.

He feels eyes on him, but when he looks up, Shiro is concentrating on his own food. Once again, he seems perfectly willing to sit in silence and let Keith eat without conversation. It’s appreciated. Keith has never really kicked the habit of eating as fast as possible while also being hyper aware of everything going on around him. He’s gotten a little better at it and can now eat while he watches a show or something, but it probably doesn’t really count when he’s usually done with his food within the first eight minutes.

He finishes his burger and tries to slow down while he eats his fries and drinks the rest of his milkshake. It’s probably a good idea anyway. He’s still shaking off the slightly sick feeling of empty-stomach-too-little-sleep.

Keith still doesn’t feel up to telling Shiro what his second job is, in part because he’s a naturally suspicious person and there’s only one quality locksmith/diecasting business in the immediate area. Shiro is someone he wants to trust, suddenly and implicitly. Keith has to fight to not spill over with information, and that’s worrying. He definitely needs hold back. Telling him he’s a barista is nothing; there’s a coffee shop on every corner. He shouldn’t give over more. He shouldn’t be opening up.

Except he should probably say  _ something. _ After Shiro talked about himself. And he… he wants to. Keep up the conversation. “It’s interesting. The flying. I’ve never even been on a plane.”

“Never?” No judgement, just curiosity.

Keith shakes his head. “I’d like to one day though. I think I’d like it.”

“Which part?”

Keith shrugs. “Being in the sky, maybe. Looking down.” Shiro smiles at him. Keith flushes for absolutely no reason. He turns his attention to his fries. “I don’t know. One day. Maybe go somewhere.”

“Where’d you like to go?”

He’s never really thought about it. Traveling was a luxury, so he didn’t bother. “Maybe somewhere with mountains? Or to a beach. I’ve never been to a beach before.” 

Shiro nods, still wearing that small smile. “Beaches are pretty great. Though I’ve got to wear a sleeve over my arm because of all the sand.”

“Oh. Huh.” Keith peers at it with interest. He figures it’s more allowed, now that Shiro’s called attention to it. “But it can get wet?”

“Yep. This version can deal with a lot, actually. Dirt, grease, grit, water, all that stuff. I clean the joints every other day, and once a week I do a deeper cleaning, but other than that it can deal with just about anything. The sand on a proper beach is just usually fine enough to be a nuisance.”

“Proper beach?”

“Some people are under the impression that lakes can have beaches.” Shiro rolls his eyes. “Which is a sad lie. If the water isn’t salty, it’s not a real beach. Lake beaches are fake beaches.”

It startles a laugh out of Keith. “I’ll keep that in mind. Make sure I go to a real beach.”

“Good plan.” The quirk of Shiro’s lips and the tone of his voice make it sound like he and Keith are in on a joke. It spreads a warmth through Keith that he doesn’t know how to react to.

He tries to push it away and catches onto something else Shiro said. “Wait, you wear a sleeve for your entire arm?” Keith can see the hand, duh, but last night Shiro was wearing a long-sleeve compression top, and today his button up also has long sleeves. His whole arm is a prosthetic? 

Then he freezes, because what kind of fucking personal question is that? “Sorry. Nevermind. That was a stupid question.”

“It’s okay. It’s not stupid. I understand being curious. And I’m used to way more impolite questions.”

“Doesn’t make mine better,” Keith says mulishly. He does a lot to avoid people seeing enough of  _ him _ to want to ask questions. Fuck curiosity. It’s no excuse for being invasive. “It’s not my business.”

“Keith.” It’s a clear request for eye contact. Keith begrudgingly lifts his head. Shiro’s expression is… soft, and it takes Keith aback. “I don’t mind. I really don’t. It’s okay. And yes, it’s my whole arm. It’s connected to the nerves in my shoulder.” Shiro rolls said shoulder. “I’m a walking experiment.  The tech is pretty advanced and probably won’t be ready to be part of general medicine for several more decades at least. Half of my entire job is to work on straightening out bugs for this kind of tech, and the other half is working to make stuff like this more affordable.”

Keith licks his lips. There’s a whole bunch of stuff he wants to ask but it really isn’t his place, even if Shiro says it’s okay. He settles on, “That’s pretty cool.”

Another grin. “Thanks. I think so too.”

They kind of just stare at each other for a beat before Keith realizes that Shiro’s done eating too. “Fuck, speaking of work, do you have to go back? Am I keeping you?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m allowed a longer break once in a while. Especially when I don’t usually take them to begin with.” Then he looks concerned. He’s looked like that a lot, at Keith. Keith grits his teeth and refuses to feel cared about. Shiro’s just a nice guy. “But do you have somewhere to be?”

“Second job’s Monday to Thursday. I was on my way to faceplant into bed.” Keith feels his lips twitch against his will. “The one I have. In my apartment. That I also have.”

The fond look returns, before it turns into something more serious. “I certainly don’t want to keep you from that. Just let me pay?”

“Uh, sure.”

Shiro pays the check then stands, and Keith follows. They head outside to Keith’s bike, and he crouches to unlock it. He gets another headrush when he stands up, but he’s still feeling worlds better than he did before food. Biking home is going to suck, but he can do it. 

He turns to Shiro to thank him again, not quite wanting to say goodbye, and there is a very deja vu moment of last night. Up to and including Shiro looking as though he’s right on the edge of saying something but is valiantly keeping silent.

Keith raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Let me call a car to take you home,” Shiro blurts out.

Keith stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“A car. To take you home. I know a company, and I’d be able to request a van so it could fit your bike. I’d pay for it and you could just give the driver your address. So I didn’t know it. I could even leave before it gets here.”

“You want to pay for a car to take me home,” Keith says in disbelief.

Shiro winces. “Yes?”

Keith’s mouth opens and shuts a few times before it actually emits any sound. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Firmer this time, and without any hesitation. “Obviously you can say no.”

Keith should. He absolutely should. What he does say is, “Okay.”

A look of relief crosses Shiro’s face before he smiles brightly, then he’s pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.”

Keith waits and watches as Shiro gives instructions to a company that apparently already has his credit card information on file. He doesn’t say or do anything suspicious when he’s on the phone. When he hangs up, he smiles at Keith again. “They said only about ten minutes.”

“Uh, okay,” Keith says, still stunned that he took Shiro up on his offer at all. What is going on with his survival instinct? 

“I can wait with you, or I can go,” Shiro says. “Whichever makes you more comfortable.”

Apparently this is really happening. “You can uh, you can stay.”

Keith doesn’t think he’s ever been smiled at this much before in his entire life. And every single one keeps seeming  _ genuine. _ It’s… it’s a lot. He focuses his gaze on the ground.

They wait in silence. Keith’s exhaustion has fully hit him again now that he’s eaten, and Shiro doesn’t press for conversation. But it feels more comfortable than awkward and it’s weird in a way that keeps prodding at the back of Keith’s mind. Shiro makes him comfortable. 

He’s a stranger. Keith knows nothing about him except what he’s been told by the man himself. It could all be a pack of lies. It could. And yet--

When a sleek black van pulls up, the man who gets out of the driver’s seat is in an actual suit. Keith abruptly realizes that Shiro is probably wealthy or maybe a mob boss, possibly both, and at this point Keith just sort of needs to trust that he’s not going to die regardless of whether or not he gets into this very fancy van.

The thing is that he  _ does. _

“I’ll get going,” Shiro says while the driver is loading Keith’s bike. It’s an out. He’s going before Keith’s asked for his address. Which is absurd, because if Shiro’s the one who hired the driver in the first place, he’d have no trouble getting that information if he was so inclined. Still, it’s kind of a nice gesture. Then Shiro hesitates. “Just…”

Keith braces himself. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is where he’s told what he owes or is asked for a ‘favor’ or-- “Yeah?”

“I’d appreciate you letting me know you got home safe again,” Shiro says. “If you didn’t mind.”

Keith blinks at the guy who just treated him to food for the second time in two days, who has hired a fucking car to take him home, and who apparently wants nothing in return except a “home safe” text message. The guy Keith feels an inexplicable pull to, who keeps managing to neatly slide around all of Keith’s defenses. Who feels  _ safe. _

He ducks his head. He’s not wired for dealing with this situation. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I think I can do that.”

“Okay.” Shiro smiles at him. “Thank you.” He gives him a little salute before turning and walking away.

The driver is holding the door open for him. Keith slides inside. Rattles off his address and they start moving.

He finds himself absently playing with his wristband as he watches the scenery zip by in an effort not to fall asleep. There’s no way he’s dozing off in a strange car, even if he’s already kind of fucked if Shiro does, in fact, want to murder him. Not that Keith thinks that’s remotely in the realm of possibility, if he’s being honest with himself. 

Keith doesn’t think about his band much anymore. He takes it off to shower or clean it and barely even glances at his wrist. He’s long since stopped paying attention to people saying any amalgamation of his words. 

But Shiro had woken him up with them. He remembers that really, really clearly.

Then again, Keith had immediately yelled at him, and Keith sincerely doubts someone like Shiro has the equivalent of  _ fuck off _ written on his skin. Even if Shiro is being all “hello I’m basically Captain America” at him, if he  _ is _ basically Captain America, this is probably a normal occurrence in his life. Keith isn’t special, just lucky.

Keith has had his desire to find his soulmate beaten out of him. He’s never going to hear his words in a way that matters. Not from someone who means them. Not from someone who wants him. And he’s definitely not going to tell anyone who says his words what they could actually mean. He’s not going to give anyone that sort of power. He’s not going to give anyone that particular way to hurt him. 

He’d rather spend the rest of his life alone and never find his soulmate. It’s worlds better than finding his soulmate and being rejected. Finding his soulmate and then having to spend the rest of life alone anyway.

Still, even if the idea that Shiro might be his is ludicrous, it’s kind of a nice fantasy. Shiro’s… a lot. Of what Keith might’ve wished for. When he still had it in him to wish.

  


***

  


Shiro fumbles for his phone the moment he feels it vibrate. His screen displays that he has two messages, both from Keith’s number.

The first one is simply,  _ Home safe. _

The second one is a picture of a bed. Single pillow in a white case, red comforter askew. The bed looks small, maybe a full at the most, but then again, Keith isn’t all that big. It definitely looks more comfortable than a park bench. The picture is captioned,  _ Told you I had one. _

Shiro types back,  _ I appreciate the visual proof. Thanks for letting me know you made it home okay. _ He pockets his phone once he sends it so he isn’t tempted to send anything else.

When he glances back up, Matt is watching him, eyebrow raised and expression amused. “What?”

“You gonna tell me why you just cut yourself off mid-sentence to check your phone and then proceeded to beam down at it?”

Shiro pretends to think about this. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Aw, come on,” Matt wheedles. “Did you meet someone? I bet you met someone.”

Shiro rolls his eyes.

“Oh! Was this why you actually took a break today?”

“I take breaks,” Shiro says half-heartedly.

“You left the building,” Matt says, emphasizing his words with a pointed finger. “You willingly left the building”

“I leave the building too.”

“Yeah, at like seven at night. And that’s only if someone yells at you.”

Shiro turns his attention back to the 3D model he and Matt are poking at. “I’m not that bad.”

Matt shakes his head. “You’re right. You’re worse. But hey!” He slings an arm around Shiro’s shoulders. “Maybe that’ll change now that you’ve met someone. What are they like? Are they nice? I mean duh, they have to be nice. How’d you meet?”

“And you’re so sure I met someone why?”

“All signals point to it.” Matt taps his nose. “Also, I’m a genius.”

Shiro snorts. Matt’s not… wrong. But thinking about Keith as someone he’s  _ met _ as opposed to just someone he’s... met is not a path he wants to go down.

Shiro’s seen him twice. They’ve had a total of two in-person interactions. 

Even if Keith had seemed to relax slightly today. Done some things that had Shiro going warm and pleased. Keith thought he was impressive enough to say so. He’d shared a few details about himself. He’d  _ laughed, _ albeit briefly. And then he’d trusted Shiro enough to take him up on his offer for a ride home.

Shiro was very relieved about said ride. The thought of Keith biking half an hour to get home when he’d stumbled two separate times after standing up too quickly--Shiro had managed to tamp down his urge to reach out and steady him, but it had been a fucking powerful urge. He can still remember Keith’s warmth from yesterday as he’d skated tentative fingers across Shiro’s palm. 

He wants so much more. Only a couple brief interactions, but Shiro already knows he’s well on his way to being in deep. He wants to see Keith smile again. Make him laugh. Wants to stroke Keith’s skin, run his fingers through his hair. Gentle him a little. Show him he deserves gentle, maybe.

Which turns Shiro’s thoughts in another direction. Wanting to lick into Keith’s mouth and feel him tremble. Take him home and lay him down and make him fall apart with pleasure. See what he looks like after, rumpled and satisfied. 

Wants to just  _ hold _ him. Help alleviate some of the tension Keith seems to carry all the time.

He has Keith’s number. He‘s still going to respect his boundaries and not text him.

But if nothing else, he’s going to worry. It’s perfectly reasonable to be concerned. Shiro is someone who likes taking care others. It only makes sense to want to take care for Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're thousands of words into a soulmate au and they've now had two interactions over a period of eleven hours. Don't look at me.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith isn’t anybody special to Shiro. Everything that happened was just a result of who Shiro is. Good. Kind. Willing to care about a stranger.
> 
> Keith isn’t anybody special.
> 
> So he can stop thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also known as how many possible ways do I have to shove these two at each other before they start t a l k i n g

Saturday is Keith’s double at the coffee shop, where he works from five to five. It sucks, but it’s certainly better than his weekdays. It’s still a long day, but it’s nice to get off at five in the evening as opposed to eight. Besides, those extra six hours are what kicked him into getting health insurance. The trade-off is definitely worth it. Hunk had tried to convince him to just let him keep his hours lower and get benefits anyway, but Keith wasn’t about taking advantage of someone as genuinely good as Hunk. 

And today is a lot better. He’d gotten home yesterday at one and, as he’d promised himself, had fallen into bed and then hadn’t moved for hours. Dragged himself up around six-thirty to go grocery shopping since he was in dire need, came home, put everything away, and then had gone back to bed. So sleep had happened. 

His dreams had been of gentle smiles and kind eyes and hot, phantom touches.

Keith’s caught between wanting to forget them, and hoping he has them again.

He’s still tired of course, even though his sleep had been restful, because he’s always tired. He does not, in fact, know what it is like to  _ not _ be tired. But he doesn’t feel like he’s actively dying.

There’s less total madness of a morning rush on Saturdays, so Keith typically opens by himself. Him and Hunk of course, who gets in even earlier than Keith to start baking.

“You look better,” Hunk says cheerfully, when he comes in from the kitchen to load pastries into the display. He plates a cinnamon roll and a blueberry muffin, Keith’s two favorites, and sets it down on the counter. “But still. Eat something. Please.”

Keith’s not about to say no. He unwraps the muffin and takes a big bite. Hunk nods in satisfaction and heads back to the kitchen. “Thanks!” Keith calls once he’s done chewing.

The morning passes slowly. Saturday mornings typically do. They only start getting busy around ten, which is when Lance comes in. By then Keith is pretty glad for the help, because even if it’s less of a crazy busy rush, there’s a steady stream of people. That being said, he and Lance have become a pretty efficient machine behind the counter. So there’s still some downtime.

It’s a little after one and everyone in the shop has already gotten their drinks and pastries, sitting at tables and talking, playing with phones, reading, or crunched over computers. Hunk left a couple hours ago to take his usual midday nap and run some errands. He’d said that he’ll be back sometime around two. He basically lives at the shop, because he loves it and the kitchen is bigger than the one he has at his apartment. 

Keith’s starting to hit a wall, and he’s really going to have to push to get through the last four hours, even though Hunk will be a third at the counter when he comes back. It’s harder without something to actively keep him busy. In an attempt to keep occupied, he pulls out his phone to scroll through it. His mind starts drifting to Shiro for absolutely no reason, except he’s the one Keith texted most recently. It has nothing to do with his dreams. It has nothing to do with the inexplicable pull he should absolutely not be feeling.

He’s struck with the sudden urge to say hi. Which he quickly tamps down. There’s no way Keith is going to try to push for more interaction. Especially when he’s positive Shiro would reciprocate, just because he’s so  _ nice.  _ Keith doesn’t need pity kindness. He doesn’t need to beg for scraps of that. Not anymore.

He tries to re-divert his attention. He’s not really one for social media and the only people he regularly texts are currently in the same building with him, but he pays attention to the news. Or usually does; he’s been too exhausted the last few days.

He gets stuck on an article from yesterday afternoon. It’s a follow-up on a hiker who had gone missing last weekend. He’d been found unconscious late Tuesday evening and had just woken up from a coma. Found by a search and rescue team.

On a whim, Keith clicks through to the linked articles about the initial rescue and then he’s staring at a picture of Shiro, face serious and streaked with mud, wearing a bright orange top, but unmistakably the man Keith’s seen twice in the last two days.

He has no idea what his face does, but suddenly Lance is peering over his shoulder. “What are you looking a--Hey! It’s that guy!”

Keith freezes. There’s no way Lance could know about Keith’s run-ins with Shiro, but still. “That guy?” 

Lance nods. “Yeah. Shiro the hero, right?”

“Shiro the what?”

Lance gives him an incredulous look. “You haven’t heard of him? I mean buddy, I knew you lived under a rock, but he’s pretty famous.”

Keith stares down at the picture. “He is?” He doesn’t squeak. No one in real life actually squeaks.

Lance waves his hands when he talks. Keith steps back so he doesn’t get poked in the eye. “He’s like, this prodigy at Altea Tech.”

Okay, that’s at least familiar ground. “You’re the only one here who cares about Altea Tech,” Keith points out. Lance is almost done with a degree in social media marketing, and he’s been gunning for Altea Tech in particular. He and Hunk apparently have a friend who works there, but Keith has never met them. He’s kind of too busy to really  _ do _ anything besides work, and that includes socializing outside of said work. But it makes Lance knowing about Shiro a little more reasonable. “Why would I know anything about a guy who works there?”

“Because he’s an  _ actual hero? _ ” Lance is still gesturing. “He’s been in the news like four times in the last six months.” He starts ticking off on his fingers. “He was basically the face of the Altea Tech charity banquet and auction last November, he’s the team leader who led the last two missing person searches,” Keith glances back down at his phone, “he does all these motivational speeches for schools and stuff, and I’m pretty sure he actively stopped a bank robbery.”

“What.” Keith says flatly.

Lance pulls out his own phone. “I bet I could find that news piece. It was everywhere. He took, like, a bullet to the arm or something.”

Keith spares a single moment to wondering about which arm before his mind starts meshing this new information with the man he’s briefly interacted with over the last couple days.

Ridiculously enough, he could seriously believe every one of those stories.

“Ah-ha! Found it.” Lance thrusts his phone under Keith’s nose. “See?”

Keith reads the headline and a total of three sentences, one of which is “ _ I just wanted to make sure no one got hurt” _ and his thoughts settle into;  _ okay, you did actually meet literal Captain America _ before they short out completely, because Literal Captain America found him sleeping on a park bench not once but twice, proceeded to treat him to food both times, and then paid for a car to take him home the second time.

Well. At least Keith is slightly less worried about being murdered. Not that he ever genuinely had any doubt.

It does solidify his stance to leave the guy alone and not make contact though. There’s no way Literal Captain America would ignore a text, even if it was from Keith, and it’s not Keith’s privilege to initiate that.

Keith swallows. He was lucky enough to get a couple interactions with a man who is apparently the poster child for Genuinely Good Person. That’s all it was. Keith isn’t anybody special to Shiro. Everything that happened was just a result of who Shiro  _ is. _ Good. Kind. Willing to care about a stranger.

Keith isn’t anybody special.

So he can stop thinking about it.

 

***

 

Shiro allows himself to sleep in an extra hour on Saturday. He exercises, showers, eats, and then goes into work.

He doesn’t have to. There is absolutely nothing he has to do right now that requires him to put in extra time on a Saturday. 

But working is a distraction from looking at his phone and wanting to make contact with Keith.

He spends time answering emails and doing paperwork, and around two his office door swings open, which is weird because there’s almost no one in the building as far as he’s aware.

It’s even weirder when Matt and Pidge walk in.

“See!” Matt says, pointing emphatically. “I told you!”

Pidge blows out an annoyed breath. “Find, you were right.”

“Right about what?” Shiro asks, looking between them.

“That you were working today,” Pidge says, crossing her arms. “Why are you working today. It’s your day off.”

“How did you even know--”

“You sent me a message from your work email,” Matt says accusingly.

“I could have been at home sending you messages from my work email,” Shiro says. He feels like he’s losing an argument he’s not aware he’s having.

Matt adamantly waves a hand. “But I wasn’t wrong.”

“I just had some things I wanted to get done.”

“No,” Pidge says. “This is an intervention.”

“Excuse me?”

“You aren’t spending your day off  _ at work, _ ” Matt says, coming over to grab Shiro’s hand and tug. “Not again. Up. Up, up, up. If nothing else, I’m taking you out for fucking coffee or something.”

Shiro doesn’t put up too much of a fight. The entire point of being at work is to distract himself from Keith. Spending time with Matt and Pidge would accomplish the same goal. “Okay. Sure. Which one?” 

“Lion’s Den Cafe,” Pidge says as they head to the elevators. “No question.”

Shiro hasn’t heard of that one, but then again, there’s a coffee shop on almost every corner of downtown. “You like it?” 

“It’s the one with all the baked goods.”

“Most coffee shops serve baked goods,” Shiro points out.

She gives him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, but this one has the best ones. You’ve had them. Coran’s always bringing them to meetings. Besides, I know the owner. He, like his baked goods, is great.”

Matt snaps his fingers. “Oh! Hank, right?”

“Hunk. Yeah.”

“Didn’t you try to recruit him or something?”

Shiro gives Pidge a surprised look. She’s incredibly picky about who she works with. “Really?” The owner of a cafe?

“I tried to recruit him for chemical engineering,” she says a little forlornly, “but he said he was happy with using his chemical reaction knowledge for making food.”

Shiro is definitely intrigued. “Okay. Lead the way.”

 

***

 

Lance is at register, Hunk is boxing up a truly impressive number of pastries for a customer, and Keith is in the middle of making a cappuccino when several things happen:

The door jingles, announcing some new potential-customers. 

Hunk and Lance greet someone by name before Lance starts to make choking noises. 

Keith, curious, glances up to look at the newcomers to determine why Lance suddenly sounds like he can’t breathe. 

He makes eye contact with Shiro, who freezes in the middle of walking up to the counter with two other people. 

And the frother in Keith’s hand explodes.

Explodes might be an exaggeration. It doesn’t burst into a ball of flame. What it  _ does _ do is make a very unfortunate noise as it sputters and vibrates violently in Keith’s hand, spraying hot milk all over Keith’s apron.

He curses and fumbles to shut off the frother. This, in turn, has him sloshing the container holding the milk in the process. Which dumps hot milk over his bare arm and hand.

To his credit, Keith only winces this time as he gets the frother under control and sets the container on the counter. He makes a beeline for the sink to shove his arm under cool water as a general clamour starts up.

“Keep your arm under the water, I’ll get the first aid kit,” Hunk says hurriedly, running into the kitchen.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” That would be Lance. “Keith! Are you okay?” Before he squeaks. And then,

“Let me see,”  _ Shiro _ says, voice calm and authoritative and suddenly right next to Keith behind the counter.

Keith gapes at him before remembering  _ oh, right, pararescue, medical training _ and wordlessly holds out his arm. 

Shiro gently grasps his wrist and inspects his arm. It hurts and the skin is red and raw, but it’s obviously only first degree. There aren’t even blisters.

“It’s not that bad,” Keith says, trying not to trip over his words as Shiro guides his arm back under the water. His breathing is uneven because of the injury, not because Shiro is close and warm and touching him like Keith matters. “I’m pretty used to burns.”

It is exactly the wrong thing to say, because Shiro fixes him with an intense look that is two parts concerned and one part furious. But then Hunk comes back with the first aid kit and Shiro turns his attention to taking it from him and rooting through it.

Keith is instructed to keep his hand under the water, which  _ duh _ , and has a couple ibuprofen dropped into his left hand. He dry swallows, chases it with the glass of water Hunk shoves at him, and when he looks up again, Shiro has pulled out a little tube of some sort of ointment and a roll of gauze.

“I’ll take care of him,” he says to a hovering Hunk and Lance. It’s said with a smile, but it belies an undercurrent of command. Lance sputters a little and bows out but Hunk, to his credit, hesitates.

Then one of the people Shiro came in with pipes up. “It’s cool, Hunk. Promise. Shiro’s really good at this stuff.”

Hunk sighs. “Okay. Uh, please take care of him.”

“Of course,” Shiro assures him with utmost sincerity. 

Keith hears Lance mutter  _ “Shiro the hero” _ in passing as he pats Keith on the back on his way back to the register. “Hey Pidge!” Lance says. “And hello probably-related-to-Pidge since you’re basically identical. You have perfect dramatic timing. What can I get you?”

“Nothing that requires hot milk,” Pidge says. 

“I can do iced.” Lance says seriously.

Hunk takes one more look at Keith before he squeezes his shoulder and also goes over to the counter. He holds out a hand. “You must be Pidge’s brother. Matt, right?”

Keith pays attention to the conversation between the four of them as Matt and Pidge order and they all chat, in an effort to both ignore his arm and the fact that Literal Captain America is standing right next to him, a solid, steady body radiating concern for Keith’s well being. It’s a little much, because Keith absolutely does not deserve this kind of treatment, especially not from someone like Shiro. But it’s also weirdly comforting.

“It’s been long enough under the water,” Shiro murmurs after another couple minutes, coming back up behind him. Keith swallows. “We should dry it off and apply the lidocaine.”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.” It’s all basics. Keith knows his way around burn treatment, especially now what with his chosen career path.

He still lets Shiro gently dry his arm off, touches light and careful to avoid putting too much pressure on the burn. He applies the lidocaine and wraps Keith arm and hand with the same care.

Keith chances a glance up at Shiro. He’s close enough to kiss. For one brief moment, Keith wonders what it would be like, being kissed by Shiro. Wonders if Shiro would approach kissing with the same gentleness, if eventually his eyes would go hot and dark with arousal as he pressed closer. Maybe sliding a hand into Keith’s hair to tilt his face up. Keith would go so easily. He  _ wants _ . It’s been so long since he’s wanted. 

“Thanks,” he manages when Shiro has finished tying off the gauze.

“You’re welcome.” Shiro’s voice is soft and his expression is softer, and normally it would be making Keith bristle, bare his teeth because he isn’t someone to be coddled. Except there’s still the sincerity about Shiro that Keith is wholly unused to. He doesn’t know how to respond. It’s not quite like Lance, where there’s ribbing and poking at Keith’s rough edges without knowing anything about Keith’s past, and it’s not quite like Hunk, who sees good in pretty much everyone and expresses affection with food.

It keeps feeling like Shiro  _ knows _ him. And still thinks Keith is worth something.

Both of those thoughts are ridiculous. The idea that Shiro would ever want him--

Keith curls his right arm against his chest, left hand coming up to wrap around his leather wristband. Shiro tracks the movement. Keith looks away. “I should get back to work. And I’m sure you want to go back to your friends.” He heads to the counter without another word. Lance cleaned up all the spilled milk while Keith was running the water over his arm, so he doesn’t have to do that at least. His arm is a hot, tender ache, and he isn’t looking forward to the rest of his shift, but he’s done harder things with worse hurts.

He takes the first aid kit to put it away, and when he comes back out, Shiro is no longer behind the counter. He is, however, right in front of it, talking quietly to Hunk.

“Are you crazy?” Lance says as Keith tries to take over register. “Go home. You‘re mutilated.”

“And you’re exaggerating. Shove over.”

Lance circles his arms around the register, giving it an awkward hug. “No. Go away.”

“I’ve got almost three hours left of my shift.”

Lance looks at him incredulously. “You think Hunk won’t let you go early?  _ Hunk? _ After you got third degree burned?”

“It’s barely a first-degree--”

“Keith,” Hunk interrupts. “Go home, okay? Lance and I have got this.” He shoves a box into Keith’s arms. It’s got the Lion’s Den logo on it, and is most definitely full of food.

Keith stares down at it, them up at Hunk. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow. For good measure, he crosses his arms.

Keith huffs out a breath. “Fine. Okay, fine. Let me go get my stuff.”

He heads to the back to grab his rucksack and emerges to see not only Lance and Hunk, but Shiro, Matt, and Pidge looking at him. Matt has a frankly deranged smile on his face. Pidge is examining him like he’s an interesting lab specimen. Hunk and Shiro look determined. Lance looks like he’s about to start vibrating.

Keith frowns, cautious. “What?”

“I know you bike here,” Hunk says. “And Shiro brought up the fact that it would be a good idea to rest your arm, at least for a few hours--”

No. There’s no way.

“--so he’s offered to drive you home.”

“What?” It comes out as a hoarse whisper. Lance, out of sight of everyone but Keith, is nodding frantically, grin way too wide.

“If you’re comfortable with that,” Shiro says. Keith focuses on him. “I have a bike rack on my car, so…”

Pidge adjusts her glasses. She is smirking slightly. “Giving your arm time to recover immediately after the injury will promote a faster healing process.”

Uh yeah, Keith  _ knows _ that, but it’s not like holding onto a bike handle is all that taxing, even if his hand hurts.

Though it does mean a chance to rest. And more time with Shiro. Which Keith still wants, even if he doesn’t know why.

“Fine,” he ends up saying. “That’s… yeah. Okay.”

Shiro smiles at him, wide and bright, as if Keith just gave him a gift for agreeing to let Shiro do him a favor. Keith focuses his attention on the box in his hands so he doesn’t stare.

“I can go and get my car and bring it here–” Shiro starts to say.

Keith shakes his head. “My legs are fine. I can walk.”

At least Shiro doesn’t try to argue that. Keith’s not sure what he’d have done. “Okay,” he says easily. “Want to head out?”

“Sure, okay.” Keith resolutely ignores Lance’s double thumbs-up. “Let me grab my bike.”

 

***

 

Shiro refrains from offering to walk Keith’s bike over to the Altea Tech parking garage, because he’s fairly certain Keith wouldn’t appreciate the offer. But it circles around in his head, especially now that Keith’s got bandages on both hands. 

“Sorry,” he says after a minute of them walking in silence.

“Sorry for what?” Keith asks, clearly bewildered.

Shiro shrugs. “I’m not sure. I just feel as though I should apologize. I’ve run into you an awful lot. And  _ I _ know it’s a coincidence but I can absolutely see why you wouldn’t think so.”

Keith levels him with a look. “I saw your face when you walked into Lion’s Den. Unless you’re a damn good actor, there’s no way you expected me to be working there.”

“I’m glad that’s the conclusion you came to,” Shiro says ruefully. “I honestly wasn’t expecting to see you ever again.” He tries not to sound as though that thought has been pulling on his heart since he said goodbye to Keith yesterday. From Keith’s expression, he’s not sure he’s all that successful.

“So you live around here, then?” Keith asks after a minute.

“I do, but I was actually working. That’s why my car’s at Altea Tech.”

“They make you work on the weekend, huh?” Keith’s lips quirk. “I know how that is.”

“They make me work whenever they want,” Shiro says, skirting around why he was at work this weekend specifically. “I’m salaried.”

Keith nods at this, then purses his lips.

“You can ask me anything you’d like,” Shiro tells him. Keith’s not someone he wants to have any secrets from.

Well. Except for a particularly big one.

“It’s less a question and more a statement,” Keith says after a second.

“Okay.”

Keith glances up at him and then his gaze skitters away. “Lance, uh, the other guy at the cafe. He uh. Told me a little about you?”

Shiro braces himself. He’s done a lot to imbue positivity in his life. Be a good role model, help others, do what he can. But he’s a big name in a big industry now, and someone in the spotlight. Some people like being negative. So he doesn’t know what Lance has told Keith. “Okay?”

Keith worries at his lip while Shiro tries not to pay attention to how pink it makes his mouth, then says, “Shiro the hero, huh?”

Shiro coughs, embarrassed. “Some journalist called me that once and it, ah, stuck I guess. It’s not really--”

“You caught a bullet in your arm and then took out the guy who shot it. I think the title is well-earned.”

And Shiro can’t help poking at that, just a little. “So does that mean I’m still impressive?”

Keith flushes and looks down at the handles of his bike. God, he’s cute. “Never said you weren’t.”

Shiro grins. “Good to know. You’re pretty impressive yourself.”

For that he gets an incredulous look. “I mean it,” Shiro says. “It’s obvious you’re a hard worker. And dedicated. Those are both impressive qualities.”

“That’s exactly what I’d expect someone nicknamed ‘Shiro the Hero’ would say.”

He’s teasing. Keith is at least comfortable enough with Shiro to  _ tease. _ Shiro tries and fails to tamp down the immediate rush of pleasure. “Okay, fine. But I do mean it. Being able to overcome the obstacles life throws at you… that’s impressive. Whatever those obstacles are.”

Keith ducks his head. “That’s a lot to say to a stranger.”

“Only one degree of separation to being friends though,” Shiro points out. “Since I know Pidge and you know Hunk.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m way less concerned you’re a serial killer or something now.”

“That’s uh. That’s. Good.”

Keith huffs a laugh. “If it helps, I wasn’t too concerned in the first place.”

“Also good.” Shiro’s relieved to hear it.

Shiro leads Keith to his car and makes a convincing argument to let Shiro be the one to put Keith’s bike on the rack. He wins by pointing out that he knows better than Keith how this particular rack works.

“Pretty sure bike racks all work the same,” Keith says dryly, though he does let Shiro secure his bike. 

Then they’re both sliding inside Shiro’s car. Shiro is very aware of Keith in the seat next to him. It’s a different type of proximity, being in Shiro’s car, as well as another level of trust.

_ Get a grip. _ Keith might have said Shiro’s words, but Keith doesn’t know he’s said them. And he hasn’t done anything to allude to the fact that Shiro’s said  _ his _ words. Which makes sense.  _ “Hey, are you all right?” _ is… common.

Besides, Shiro’s decision not to force himself on his soulmate just because of some words on their wrists still stands. Even if he hasn’t inflicted  _ hurt _ like he’d grown up expecting.

Still…

He takes a quiet, steadying breath before he looks over at Keith apologetically. “Guess you’re going to have to give me your address after all.”

“Again,” Keith says, lips quirked, “I’m like 96% positive you’re not a serial killer.”

“And the other four percent?”

Keith waves a hand. “Statistical error.” He tells Shiro his address as Shiro punches it into his navigation system. It’s not in the... worst section of town. 

He’s struck with wondering if Keith lives alone. Or if he already has someone in his life. Finding Keith napping on park benches, knowing how far away he lives and how hard he works makes a little bit more sense now, but…

_ “A little late for that.” _

He starts the car. The audiobook he’s been listening to starts up with it. 

_ “--is a denial of a god.”  _ The narrator intones.  _ “Therefore It Is A Religious Position," said Dorfl. "Indeed, A– _

Shiro mutes the volume. “Here, uh, you can pick what you want to listen too.” When he chances a glance in Keith’s direction, it’s to find that he’s perked up.

“No, wait, that’s  _ Feet of Clay, _ right?”

“Yeah!” He tries to mute his smile, but he knows how enthusiastic he must come across.  _ Feet of Clay  _ is one of his favorite books, and to have Keith recognize it just from those few lines… “Are you a fan?”

Now  _ Keith _ smiles. Open and bright and so, so beautiful. Shiro wants to stare forever. He dutifully jerks his attention back to the road. “Yeah. I’ve read the whole  _ Guards Guards _ series, but  _ Feet of Clay _ is my favorite.”

Shiro’s excited to have something easy to talk about. “How’d you get into Pratchett? My grandparents were both fans. They liked how clever he was. So do I.”

“Oh, uh.” Keith goes quiet and the smile drops from his face. “There was one of those little ‘take a book’ stand things a few blocks away from a family I stayed with for a couple months. It had  _ Feet of Clay _ in it and it looked interesting and weird so I gave it a try. I didn’t, uh, completely understand it all, but I liked. Read it a lot before I got a chance to read the other books. I’ve pretty much got it memorized.”

It’s the most Shiro has heard Keith say so far, and Keith didn’t look entirely comfortable saying it. But he did. He opened up, just a little.  _ A family I stayed with for a couple months. _

Shiro had asked if Keith’s home was safe, and Keith had sneered,  _ a little late for that. _

He clears his throat. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Vetinari,” Keith says immediately, sounding a little more at ease. “Let me guess, yours is Carrot?”

Shiro laughs. Okay, fair, he can see why Keith pegged him as the upstanding can-do-no-wrong hero. “Vimes, actually. Carrot’s great--they all are, but I like Vimes more.”

“How come?” 

“Vimes has a lot he’s overcoming all the time. He kind of feels like the world is against him, but he does the right thing anyway. Or tries to. And I liked that he didn’t care about who ended up working for the Watch, as long as they did a good job. It was refreshing to see how accepting he ends up being, since he doesn't really come across as that type of character.”

Keith nods thoughtfully. “Okay, I can see that.”

“Why’s yours Vetinari?”

“Guy knows who to run things.” A pause. “And he’s really good at it. I mean, he’s manipulative, but in a good way? He just… knows how to make people think that the best thing to do is  _ their _ idea. I like that.”

“I can see that.”

“And the golems. And dwarves. They both know what’s up.”

Shiro chuckles. “They do certainly know what they want.”

The rest of the drive is chatting about Terry Pratchett and Shiro loves every minute of it. Keith is quick and clever--not that Shiro ever had any doubt--and it’s amazing to see him open up. His enthusiasm is infectious, and Shiro was already pretty enthusiastic about the topic.

He does notice Keith shying away from talking about anything any more personal, but Shiro doesn’t press and Keith seems relieved by it. 

Soon enough they’re pulling up to a worse-for-wear looking apartment building. “There’s a parking lot around back,” Keith says.

“Okay.” Right. Shiro, if nothing else, has to park to get Keith’s bike down.

He drives around and pulls into the lot, absently noting the rusting gate surrounding it, and the rickety-looking fire escape attached to the back part of the building. A few people are hanging around on different levels, smoking. Again, it’s not the worst place ever.

Shiro parks and goes to take down Keith’s bike, and Keith slides out of the front seat, slings his rucksack over his shoulder and picks up the Lion’s Den box to put it in the basket of his bike. “Thanks for driving me home,” he says. 

“Of course,” Shiro says. “Happy to do it.”

Keith nods, right hand coming up to grip the strap on his bag. It puts the bandages on his hand and arm, as well as his thick wristband, in clear view. “Do you, um… do you want to come up for a little bit?” He nods to the Lion’s Den box, not meeting Shiro’s eyes. “Hunk probably packed a lot of stuff. If you wanted to have some. Since you didn’t get to have anything at the cafe.”  _ Since you were taking care of me, _ is left unsaid.

“I’d love to, if you’ll have me. But I don’t want to impose.” 

A shrug, and then Keith starts walking his bike toward the building. Shiro follows. As if there was any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, "I'm pretty sure he actively stopped a bank robbery" is probably my favorite line in this whole story.
> 
> (we're getting there!!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith isn’t usually self-conscious about where he lives, but then again, he doesn’t have a lot of people over. And Shiro seems to dominate the small space. Like he’s this bright thing against a dingy backdrop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part the last! writing this was a wild ride. hope you enjoyed and, of course, happy sheithlentines2019!

Keith has no idea why he’s invited Shiro up to his apartment. He keeps it clean enough even with his lack of energy because there’s only so many times you can be punished for being messy that it sinks into your skin, but it’s still old and small, even if it’s _his._ It’s probably a dump compared to what Shiro must be used to.

But there’s nothing for it now. He offered, Shiro accepted, and so Keith leads him inside and toward the working elevator. He usually doesn’t bother with it, since he doesn’t like being in enclosed spaces. He’s perfected the art of carrying his bike up the stairs to his place. But with burns on both his hands as well as his arm now, he’ll probably have to avoid carrying his bike for a little while. The elevator smells as bad as it always does, and while he’s used to it, he wishes Shiro didn’t have to deal with it. Shiro doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even wrinkle his nose.

Keith punches the button for the fifth floor. He’d been given the choice of a third floor apartment or a fifth floor one, and he’d chosen the top floor without hesitation. Way better than being closer to the ground.

“Top floor?” Shiro asks. He grins. “I remember you saying you liked being up high.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

The elevator comes to a halt and the doors open. “This way.” Keith walks his bike out and Shiro follows him to his apartment down the hall. He digs through his bag for his keys and then pushes open the door.

Keith isn’t usually self-conscious about where he lives, but then again, he doesn’t have a lot of people over. And Shiro seems to dominate the small space. Like he’s this bright thing against a dingy backdrop.

He struggles to think of something to fill the silence as he pushes his bike up against the wall and kicks off his shoes. Shiro, he notices a second later, has also stepped out of his shoes and nudged them into a neat line against the wall. He’s looking around the studio, and Keith readies himself for a comment.

“Well,” Shiro says, fixing Keith with an unexpected grin. “Nice to see you were telling the truth about the bed.”

And suddenly things are a little more comfortable again. “Hey! I sent you a picture.”

Shiro waves a hand. “Anyone can pull a picture off the internet.”

Keith snorts and goes over to his table. It’s half covered in papers and materials and soldering supplies, but there’s enough room for the Lion’s Ben box and a couple plates. “Here, take a seat and I’ll grab plates and stuff.” It’s only a few steps past the kitchen to get to the little cupboard he keeps his dishware. He grabs out two cups and plates, then hesitates. “Is water okay?”

“Water’s great.”

Keith nods and brings everything to his table and throws himself into the other chair. He waves at Shiro. “You do the honors and open the box. I don’t even know what’s in it, but you’ve never had Hunk’s stuff before.”

Shiro grins again and reaches for the box. Inside are two blueberry muffins, two cinnamon rolls, and a slice of what looks like their coffee cake. All of Keith’s favorites and… multiples. “Wow,” Shiro says. “This all looks great.”

“Uh, yeah. Hunk’s pretty fantastic. You pick first.” Shiro reaches for a roll, Keith grabs a muffin. Even if he’s already had one today, he really does like them.

“How long have you two known each other?” Shiro asks.

“A couple years. Ever since I started at Lion’s Den.”

Shiro nods. “He clearly cares about you a lot.”

Keith takes a bite of muffin. “I guess. He’s great. He’s a great guy.”

Shiro takes his own bite and his eyes widen. “Wow, this is fantastic.”

“Told you,” Keith says smugly. “Our coffee’s pretty good, but Hunk’s food is definitely what carries the cafe.”

“I can believe it.” Shiro licks his lips. He looks suddenly nervous. “So a couple of years?”

“A couple of years what?”

“You and Hunk.”

“Me and Hunk what?”

“Since you’ve been together.”

Keith freezes, muffin halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Shiro averts his eyes. “Sorry, if that’s a personal question--”

“Hunk’s my _boss_ .” It doesn’t feel like enough emphasis. “We aren’t dating.” Keith isn’t sure why it’s so important to get this point across by but it _is._ “He’s great. We’re friends. But we’re definitely not dating. “ For good measure he adds, “I’m not dating anyone.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to assume.”

“It’s okay.” Keith thinks it’s kind of weird that Shiro brought it up as a topic of conversation at all. Then again, it isn’t as if Keith is coming up with stuff to say. Why did he even invite Shiro in? To just sit in awkward silence?

The part of him that wants to just keep Shiro _around_ keeps popping up. It’s still just as weird.

He wonders if Shiro is dating anyone. Probably. He's too amazing to not have someone in love with him.

Shiro had been kind. To a total stranger. Multiple times.

Keith doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with people like Shiro. Maybe that’s why he keeps wanting to be around him. It’s interacting with an anomaly. That’s all.

The fact that he finds Shiro altogether too attractive in a number of different ways–

That’s all.

“How are you feeling?”

On reflex, Keith glances down at the bandages on his hands and arm. “Oh. Fine. Really, it was no big deal. I barely even feel it. My left hand was way worse.” That was a first degree also, thank god, but a way more painful burn. That one _had_ raised blisters, and putting on his gloves for work had really sucked the first few days since he’d gotten it.

Shiro reaches out, but pulls his hand back before he could touch. “I… want to ask what happened.”

Keith shrugs. “Work.”

“The… the cafe?”

“Oh, no. Other job.” And at this point, Keith figures there isn’t any harm in some details. Shiro is still too easy to trust, but considering all the other factors, he’s plenty safe. “I’m a welder.”

“Oh!” Like half of the tension goes out of Shiro’s shoulders. What the hell. “Oh,” he says again.

Keith nods. “Yeah. Obviously I’m as careful as possible, but burns kind of come with the territory.”

“How come you went into welding?”

“Job security mostly. I can get a job anywhere with the skillset.”

Shiro nods. “That’s certainly true. But then... why are you working two jobs?”

“I’m only part time at my apprenticeship right now. It’s a three-year contract, but the first six months is a part-time probationary period to make sure you’re actually going to stick around. After I’m done with that I’ll be full time with benefits and stuff. But until then, I’ve got to do both.”

Another thoughtful nod. “I see. Well, it’s nice to be right about one thing, anyway.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Right about what?”

“That you’re impressive.” Shiro smiles at him, in a way that makes Keith feel like he did something really right.

He’s done nothing to deserve a smile like that. He diverts his attention to his muffin. “Thanks.”

“Does it bother you? That I think you’re impressive?”

Keith shrugs.

“I just mean… you work really hard. It seems like you know exactly what you want, and you’re working toward that in every way you can. It’s really admirable. That’s all.”

Keith’s not so sure he knows “exactly what he wants.” For a long, long time all he’s ever wanted to do was to survive. After he settles into a good job, after he gets a little more secure… he doesn’t know what will come after. He doesn’t know what he’ll work _toward_ anymore. It’s a scary thought that he turns over in his mind a lot, when he isn’t too tired to think. He’s never not been tired. He doesn’t know how to _not_ be tired. He doesn’t know what comes after.

He wants to keep talking to Shiro. Doesn’t want to let this conversation go down an awkward path it can’t return from. Probably that means taking the attention away from himself. “What about you?”

“About me?”

“Yeah. What do you want? Out of… life I guess. You’ve got a job it sounds like you like. You volunteer and stuff. You stop bank robberies--”

“That was only one time--”

Keith raises an eyebrow, amused. The fact that Shiro is trying to downplay it as “it was only one time it wasn’t a big deal” is ridiculous. He says as much.

Shiro laughs and rubs the back of his neck. The tips of his ears are red. It’s really cute.

Not something Keith should be thinking. He isn’t special. He clears his throat. “Just uh, wondering about, I don’t know. What you do in your free time? Or what you do for you? Or I guess… do you have a family? Kids or whatever?”

Shiro coughs. “No, ah, no kids. Or anyone. In that respect. I’m single.”

“Seriously?” Keith asks incredulously. How are people not fucking lining up to date Shiro? “Why?”

“I tried,” Shiro says after a moment. He’s curled his left hand around his right wrist. “But I… eventually it felt like cheating.”

Whoa. Whoa, okay, that’s a can of worms Keith did not realize he was opening. But he still can’t help his next question. “You have words?” It’s a whisper. People, if they get words, get them on their dominant wrists or dominant ankles. Keith had just assumed… he swallows. “Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s okay.” Shiro shakes his head. “I do. Or did. I had words once. I still know them.”

“And you haven’t… heard them yet?” Keith winces. He’s heard his so many times he could live forever and happily never hear them again. But Shiro seems like the type to care about his. And Shiro certainly deserves to have a soulmate, if he does want one.

Keith doesn’t know how to interpret the expression that crosses Shiro’s face, but it looks like Shiro’s in pain. “It’s not my business,” he hurries to add. “Forget I asked.”

Shiro goes quiet. “You have them,” he says eventually. He nods at Keith’s wrist. “Right?”

Keith pulls his wrist into his chest, ashamed, and ducks his head feeling as though he should apologize. “Yeah.” It doesn’t seem fair that he’s got them, while Shiro’s lost his.

“What would happen if you heard them?”

He scowls. At the table, so Shiro knows it’s not directed at him. “I have. Loads of times. When I was eleven, some older kids at school held me down and pulled off my band. Next day the whole school knew ‘em.” He shrugs to hide the hurt of the memory. Other memories, of well-meaning adults that didn’t care enough in the end. A foster dad who-- “Besides, they’re pretty common. People say them a lot. If someone’s saddled with my words, they’d have to make the first move once they realized it. And believe me, that’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?” Shiro asks, frowning now.

“Don’t have a whole lot to offer,” Keith says dryly.

“Don’t say that,” Shiro says sitting up straighter. “You’re worth more than that.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “No offense, but you’ve got absolutely no idea who I am or what I’m worth. I’ve probably already met them and they passed me by.”

Shiro opens his mouth again looking absolutely furious, to the point that Keith flinches back a little, unable to help it. Shiro’s expression immediately smooths out. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I…”

Great. He’s made it awkward. “It’s okay. Sorry to snap at you. It’s just uh, something I’m touchy about.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Shiro says after a long moment. “But my words bothered me a lot.” He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself, fingers tracing patterns over his right wrist. “I was worried.”

“Worried?”

Shiro nods and doesn’t look at Keith. “That I’d hurt them. My person. That I’d do something…”

Keith incredulously watches Shiro trail off. He’s only met him a handful of times, but still, Keith can’t in a million years imagine Shiro doing anything to hurt someone else, soulmate or no. “I bet they’d understand. Whatever it is. Whatever they say. I bet they’d forgive you.”

Shiro glances at Keith before he looks back down at the table. “I made myself a promise. That I’d never tell them who I was. I wanted to let them live their life without having to be connected to me.”

Keith’s mouth works soundlessly for a moment. “What?” he ends up sputtering. “Shiro that’s--that’s fucking ridiculous. Screw first impressions, you’re… you’re _good._ They’d see that. You have no idea--” he rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ve had kind of… kind of a rough time, okay? And it’s whatever, it doesn’t matter, I’m past it, but I _know_ how to pick up on people who… who make it easier. For everyone.” That was how you survived. You clung on to the people willing to give you scraps of kindness, or who tried to help even if it was in the only small way they were able to. Eventually he grew too hard and bitter to do anything but bare his teeth, but Shiro… Shiro makes him feel like he’s…

Not. Special.

Shiro is watching him now, silently. Keith pushes forward trying to articulate what he wants to say, trying to make Shiro understand. “We’ve had like three conversations and I’ve skimmed a news article about you. The common thread was you just wanting to help. Help make things better. And that’s--that’s important. That people like you exist.” He looks away. “I don’t… I don’t think you’d be making your soulmate happier, by not being in their life.” He means it, with all of himself he means it, but it hurts to say. It hurts, to think of Shiro’s soulmate out there, so damn lucky at who they’ll eventually get to have, and Keith is being _so stupid._ All Shiro’s done for him is given him a couple meals and a dozen warm smiles. He shouldn’t be wanting to cling so hard. He shouldn’t be wanting–  

“Keith?” Shiro asks hesitantly.

Keith bites his lip. This was a bad idea. All of it; accepting that first invitation, interacting again, lowering a wall that’s been up for so long--lowering it so _easily._ Allowing himself to even for a moment wonder what it might be like if it was someone like Shiro who would ask him a question he’s stopped wanting to hear. “I don’t think you’d be making them happier,” he says, voice cracking, “letting them feel like they’re unwanted.”

“Keith,” Shiro breathes. Keith can’t meet his eyes. “Hey.” Shiro’s voice is quiet and serious, but there’s an undercurrent of something that Keith can’t read. “Are you all right?”

Keith inhales sharply and jerks back so hard he nearly falls out of his chair. Coincidence. It’s just coincidence. He’s heard those words so many times, too many times–

It sounds different, being shaped in Shiro’s mouth. It’s the second time he’s said it, and this time it sounded deliberate, like he _knows_ , but it’s--it’s simply a well-meant question, it doesn’t mean anything.

It doesn’t–

“Keith? Keith, look at me?”

It’s with effort that Keith makes himself look back up. He can’t imagine what kind of picture he makes right now, fingers wrapped tightly around his leather wristband as he pants roughly, heartbeat loud in his ears, just because he was asked if he was okay.

He’s not okay. He’s not _all right_. He’s not, and Shiro is moving again, coming closer, reaching out and Keith can’t. He can’t. He feels cornered and desperate and it’s all too much, he can’t handle being just another person Shiro’s helped, before Shiro moves on. “Don’t,” he whispers, trying to make it sound less like a plea. He’s focused on Shiro’s hand moving toward him and how gentle he had been taking care of Keith’s burn. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle Shiro touching him again, not now, not after what he’s said.

For the second time.

Keith shrinks back. Forces out, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Shiro freezes, eyes wide and lips parted. He’s breathing shallowly, staring at Keith as if he can’t believe he’s real, and his metal arm is outstretched, inches from Keith’s body. Keith finds his gaze going to Shiro’s unmarked wrist. Bare of the words Shiro's lost.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Shiro croaks. “But I’ve been hurting you. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, that I didn’t try to find you. I’m so sorry I didn’t say something the moment I realized.”

Keith swallows. “I don’t understand.”

Shiro pulls his hand back. Shifts to reach into his pocket and take something out of it. He wordlessly holds it out to Keith.

He hesitates before taking it, but in the end he’s grateful for a reason to tear his gaze from Shiro’s earnest, intense expression. The item is a badge of some sort, metal, with USAF pararescue emblazoned on it, above the motto _“that others may live.”_

Keith still doesn’t understand. He looks from it to Shiro, the metal heavy in his palm. “What…?”

“It’s engraved,” Shiro says quietly. “On the back.”

Keith flips it over. And stares and stares and stares.

Keith knows metal. He’s worked with it and molded it, and so he knows that the engraving is old. Well-worn, from being touched often. This isn’t a fresh engraving. This is one that tells of time.

Shiro’s had this for years.

“It… it didn’t make sense to tell you suddenly, when we first met. And I didn’t want to--I didn’t want to pressure you, I swore I wouldn’t do that. All I wanted was to maybe make your day a little brighter, at least be able to go forward knowing I’d done one little thing to help make you happier. I was going to leave you alone. But then we met again, and again, and you… I can’t--I can't let you go on thinking your person--thinking _I_ don’t want you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Keith says, voice hoarse with disbelief. Although if Shiro even feels a fraction of the pull Keith’s been feeling… “You can’t want me.”

“I want to know you,” Shiro says at once. “I want to get the chance to know you. And it might not work. I might--I might not be good enough–” _this is impossible,_ Keith thinks hysterically _this isn’t real_ “I might not end up being who you want. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Keith gapes. “How can you even say that?”

Shiro’s smile is soft and sad and it leaves Keith aching. “Because it’s true.”

 

***

 

Shiro’s heart hurts. He’s spent his whole life not wanting to be a burden on his soulmate, not wanting to hurt them, not wanting to push.

He never once considered what it might mean to his person, if he kept silent. How they might feel, going through life with words on their wrist and no one ever claiming them.

 _“No offense, but you’ve got absolutely no idea who I am or what I’m worth. I’ve probably already met them and they passed me by.”_ Keith had tried to cover up how much it’d hurt him to say that, and Shiro hates himself for letting Keith carry those thoughts with him for even a minute longer than necessary.

Keith, who is staring at him with such a mixture of hope and disbelief that Shiro can’t help but want to reach for him again. It’s near overwhelming, the need to gather him up in his arms and hold him, press kisses to his hair.

“Can I…” Shiro swallows. “Can I…” But he’s unable to say the words. Wanting so much, desperate to ask for permission, but Keith’s already said he needs distance. Shiro can’t bear the thought of asking and being told ‘no.’ Not now. So he closes his hands into fists, ignores the fact that they’re trembling, and draws back. Stands. He’s not going to go; he can’t leave, not before they talk some more, but at the very least he can give Keith a moment to process.

Keith shoots to his feet and wraps a hand around Shiro’s wrist.

The touch is electric and they both startle. Keith’s eyes are wide, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s done. “Sorry,” he gasps, “Sorry–” he lets go, but before he can pull away, Shiro twists his wrist to tangle their fingers together.

“Don’t,” Shiro says. He has to fight the urge to press his lips to Keith’s bandaged knuckles. “Don’t apologize. Not to me, not for this. I want you. You are so, so worth wanting. Spending more time with you, learning more about you, will just give me more ways to prove that.”

Keith’s breath hitches and Shiro moves to cup his cheek with his free hand. Watches in wonder as Keith lets out a quiet whimper and brings his own hand up to cover Shiro’s, gazing up at him, eyes tracking fast.

They’re so close.

“Please,” Keith whispers.

Shiro leans in and brushes his lips against Keith’s. Just a taste, just to show he’ll do anything, give anything, but that it’s up to Keith; it’s whatever he wants and nothing more.

Keith emits a broken sound and reaches for him, hands going to fist in Shiro’s shirt, and it’s the invitation Shiro needs to wrap his arms around him, one going to encircle Keith’s waist, the other hand threading through his hair.

They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they come down from the desperation and Shiro finds it in him to gentle things a little, to start showing Keith how precious he is. He kisses underneath his jaw, licks at the hollow of Keith’s throat, revels in how Keith shudders against him before Keith pulls him up to slot their mouths together again.

It’s amazing to feel Keith in his arms, responsive and perfect and beautiful. Wanting Shiro, wanting Shiro _back,_ not thinking of Shiro as a burden or a failure, but as someone to want in his life. Shiro’s mind is whirling, with desire, with pleasure, with joy, and he pours his feelings into more kisses, in coaxing out gasps and quiet little moans. He wants it to go on forever.

Eventually though, he moves back, not wanting to take too much too soon. They have time. They have so much more time, now. But he doesn’t go very far, resting his forehead against Keith’s. “God, I’m so glad you’re mine.”

Keith’s reply is a breathless hiccup of a laugh as he throws his arms around Shiro’s neck and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (me: friend, do you think it is appropriate to tag this as slow burn?  
> friend: doesn't it take place over like two and a half days?  
> me: ...ye.  
> friend: ...  
> me: ...  
> friend: how long does it take them to kiss.  
> me: u-um.  
> friend: how long.  
> me: ...20k.  
> friend: ...  
> me: ...  
> friend: tag it.)
> 
> thank you for reading :D

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/justsayins) Mostly fandom. Currently? Mostly sheith. Come say hi!


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